Rock Paper Scissors
by Durriken
Summary: When there's an argument, it's time to rock, paper, scissors it out!


Rock Paper Scissors

A/N: Bet it all or go home, hahaha.

Chapter 1: Dishes

* * *

"It's your turn!"

"Nuh-uh, it's _your_ turn!"

"Bullshiiii—oot! Quit being lazy, Dash, there's not even that much!"

"Then you do 'em then if it ain't that much!"

"It's _not_ — _my_ — _TURN_!"

Unbeknownst to the two of them, Dash and Violet had been steadily stomping in the others direction with each outburst, until they were almost nose to nose, still barking out reasons why it was the others turn—until two hands stretched around the corner and snatched them apart by the neck of their shirts.

They knew it was coming before it hit and still couldn't get their hands to their ears in time: "BOTH OF YOU BE QUIET!"

The house quaked, the ground trembled, eardrums nearly ruptured—the voice of their mother was always such a lovely thing to hear, even when cranked up to eleven.

"I don't care who does the dishes but if they're not done by the time I walk in there to start dinner then I know two keesters that'll be glued to their rooms for the next week!"

Like snakes, the hands withdrew and slithered back around the corner, leaving the siblings to stare at one another with a fair amount of terror reflecting in their eyes.

"Wow, she, uh… she really makes a good case, doesn't she?" Dash muttered, scratching behind his head.

Nodding somewhat, Violet coughed into her hand. "Yeah, um, that she does, that she certainly does…."

In the most gentlemanly manner possible, Dash swept his arms toward the sink and lowered his top half in a respectable bow. "Well, milady, the suds be a'callin'. Best get to 'em quick, before they pop."

"Oh, no, no, no," said Violet graciously, grabbing the ends of a dress that she wasn't wearing and dropping low for a curtsy, even crossing her heels, "I appreciate your kindness, young sir, but really, a princess of my caliber has no place touching such befouled utensils. Surely, it must be you, jester."

The ghost of a smirk twitched onto Dash's lips and he narrowed his eyes at his snidely smiling sister. "You call me a jester yet you're the one full of rich humor," he responded regally. "You really must cease with these waking fantasies of yours, for we both know you're but the cleaning lady of these quarters." It was quite satisfying watching the smirk slide off Violet's face, her lips twisting it into a hostile grimace. "So, cleaning lady… I suggest you clean."

"W-why, jester," she chuckled, a series of twitches overtaking her left eye, "I think _you_ would be better tasked to this since you _always_ leave old food behind. It's disgusting, a clear indicator of less-than-stellar home training."

Around the corner came a very loud, very affronted, " _Excuse me_ , young lady?"

With great difficulty, Violet resisted the urge to roll her eyes, mostly because her mom had this incredible gift for detecting an eye-roll even out of sight. " _Nothing personal, mom,_ sheesh," she hissed out the side of her mouth.

It was taking a fair bit of Dash's willpower not to laugh but it showed over his smug face. "Way to help my case, fair cleaning lady. Since I'm obviously inept at cleaning dishes, all the more reason for _you_ to do 'em, then."

"You're not only inept at dishes, young jester, you're inept at nearly all things life," Violet countered, sticking out her tongue.

"Rather life than the ineptitude of something as simple as drinking, yon cleaning lady," and Dash knew he had struck a cord with his sister before he had even finished by the way her breathing stuttered, followed by that crimson hue quickly invading her cheeks, "and I daresay that Baron von Tony would agree most heartily with me, no?"

" _You little_ —"

"DASH! VIOLET! STRIKE TWO!"

"Ah, such a thrill it is, the terror her voice can instill," Dash continued suavely, though he cast a few nervous glances toward the kitchen door like a flame-spitting dragon might come lumbering through any second. "Wouldn't you say, cleaning lady?"

Still vexed off his previous slight against her, Violet stood there looking livid, clenching and unclenching hands that yearned for a nice, scrawny neck to latch onto. "Yay—verily—jester," she ground out through pursed lips, then she exhaled, planting a seed of calm into her expression and lifting a fist, "so before we both find our hides flamebroiled… shall we let the method of old decide our fates?"

A challenging grin lit up Dash's face and he quickly stepped forward, meeting his knuckles to hers. "Let's."

"The loser does the dishes," Violet wagered and Dash nodded.

"Of course, _loser_."

It was more tense than it had any right to be, the moment in which Dash and Violet began to lift their hands. The silence was such that unbeknownst to them, both Helen and Bob were actively listening just around the corner, even turning an ear toward the kitchen. Normally, they would have intervened and done the whole parent thing, but the 'ye olde' style of argument had been a new and surprisingly refined one compared to the boisterous screaming matches of the past—and after all of that, they were just as keen on seeing who would be victorious.

"Rock!"

Sweat peppered Dash's brow.

"Paper!"

No one noticed how Violet's hand flickered ever so slightly—

"Scissors!"

When Dash and Violet slammed their fists down for the last time, Dash was wielding scissors and Violet was brandishing rock. It took a moment to hit home that he had lost, but once it had Dash let loose a dragging groan and smacked himself on the forehead.

"Dang it!"

"Ha, says me, the lovely and victorious princess," Violet sang, giving another faux curtsy. "Enjoy thine labor, jester. Perhaps you can keep the suds in stitches with your everlasting comedy. Ciao!" And she kissed her sulking brother over the cheek, which only caused him to groan harder, before traipsing from the kitchen.

As she sauntered through the living room and past her parents who were snugged on the couch, engrossed in their own separate books, there was something about the way her mother chuckled that caused her to stop mid-step, that pierced her stomach with a jolt of anxiety.

"All that speed and he still didn't catch when you made your hand invisible a split second before he made his move," Helen said nonchalantly, not even bothering to look up from her book, and when she chuckled again, Violet wasn't sure if it was directed at her or what she was reading.

The fact that her mother had accurately guessed how Violet had won wasn't surprising, it was only natural, it happened all the time. What _was_ unnatural was that she hadn't reprimanded Violet for it.

"To the victor go the spoils," Bob echoed out passively, with an impressed smile aimed at his book, and he made a scooting motion with his hand. "Such a resourceful use of your power, and on the fly—you clearly wanted to win so we won't ruin it for you."

It was rare that Violet smiled so hard it nearly reached ear to ear, but it was even rarer that her parents exhibited such unprecedented levels of cool in her favor. Not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth, the victorious princess curtsied once more and kept on.


End file.
